


A Waltz of Wills

by LearaBribage



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables (TV 2000), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Eponine/Enjolras - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Hilarity, Prompt Fill, enjolras x eponine, enjolras/eponine - Freeform, enjonine - Freeform, eponine x enjolras, friday fluff i guess? haha, written at 3am when high on caffeine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 21:59:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17537045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearaBribage/pseuds/LearaBribage
Summary: “!” sufficed. “!” did not suffice. “!” had words. “!” must therefore have action.-Prompt from eponineinthebarricade in Tumblr: Enjolras likes Éponine and he writes things about her, erotic and not. But his wild side is hidden and one day Courf finds these writings so Les Amis always make sure to put Éponine and Enjolras together and poor Éponine has no idea while Enjy is dying inside. (Twisted a bit, but I hope you enjoy it!)





	A Waltz of Wills

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eponineinthebarricade](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=eponineinthebarricade).



Everyone knew Enjolras was intense. 

She just did not expect that his passion could also be directed towards other matters that did not appear in line with his immaculate and marmoreal reputation.

Matters that were, in the words of Courfeyrac ,“un-Enjolraic”, in the words of Combeferre, “a rare eccentric of an occurrence but nothing out of the usual for a youth such as he”, in the words of  Feuilly, “perception towards idols re-evaluated”, in the words of Grantaire, “puts Don Juan to shame”, in the words of Bahorel, “a chance to forward the revolution”, in the words of Bossuet, “necessary to live”, in the words of Jolllly, “a healthy practice for youths that require constant practice and constant attention”, in the words of Prouvaire, “an act that must be encouraged for a waltz of wills to ascend towards mutual respect, fervent attention, and true love”, in the words of Marius, “incomprehensible!”, and at last, in the words of Éponine, “!”

If “!” should suffice a reaction when they all discovered that Enjolras kept a journal with a lot of words _for her_.

A lot of words carrying ire, respect, sentiment, affection, then ire, then respect, then anger, then sentiment, then affection, then anger, and then affection again, and THEN there were about a hundred leaves that detailed in full how a man such as him could actually feel other things aside from stoicism, justice, democracy, _LIBERTÉ, ÉGALITÉ, FRATERNITÉ_ , and said other things included very intimate thoughts before spiralling out of control and then going back to ire, then respect, then sentiment, then affection, and on and on and on.

And _on_.

But the world finally made sense, and she finally understood why Courfeyrac and the others had so conveniently leapt upon every opportunity to have her seated next to Enjolras when she attended their meetings at the backroom of the Musain. Every time. Which was every other Thursday when she could stand to not be the wolf on the watch for the Patron-Minette. Or every other Monday. The timetable was hard to tell, truly, but each time, without fail, there was some elaborate excuse that all of them used to make it happen.

Like _today_.

Today, a most unusual Friday, it was sweet Jehan asking what she thought of his translation for Shakespeare’s one hundredth and sixteenth sonnet as Enjolras sat next to her, fully (appearing) engrossed in his journal (probably) writing plans. For a “chance to forward the revolution” as said Bahorel.

Her head was aching again because she forgot to eat, but she skimmed through Prouvaire’s work quickly and found it heartfelt and grand, and thus told him so. He had thanked her very much, and before departing, he bid her sit by the Chief so they could share the left-overs from the meeting.

“ _Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks_ ,” Jehan Prouvaire quoted the English bard with quite the cheek she only understood now as she sat and took the brioche from the table Enjolras was writing other things on his journal on. The poet bowed with quite the flourish too, his nose nearly to the floor and his hand did cut the air with such firm grace and obvious jest.

How Enjolras remained unmoved by their “attempts” was quite lost to her. Alas, how perfectly did they describe him. _Marble_ , that.

But still “!”.  

Éponine was not and had not meant to find out about the other things Enjolras wrote, but her eyes were quick to scan and take in any information that might be useful in the future, and it was with great rue that she accidentally read some of those other things with her name – _how quaint yet solid he wrote her name, how almost like a secret!_ – on it when she went over his head to reach for the cup that Jolllly was handing to her in the next table.

And then her eyes fell on a page! And as said earlier, she was simply “!”

“!” until she sat down beside him, quiet and pensive and out of control, her cheeks flaming.

She had read him write: **_Of Éponine, I must find a chance time. I wish to speak alone with her how the sun sets upon her crown, and to see her lips curl fondly – it feels like I would have known the taste of forever. The sun rises in her eyes, and I know I am home. And if she lets me, I would press upon her brow, her cheeks, her eyes, and her mouth a soft kiss. A gentle one, a soft one, however and wherever she desires. If she allows. If she so desire_** —

“!” sufficed. “!” did not suffice. “!” had words. “!” must therefore have action.

Éponine squared her shoulders before shuffling closer to him, letting her lips near his ears. Her eyes caught on the way his hair rose and the way he nearly jumped in surprise. In excitement? In fear? Why not have it all?

“You write _of me_ , I see.”

Was it chance that all his face was “!” just as she was?

She expected for him to deny it, but ah, what does she know? Today was Friday, and anything can happen on such a day as this. Ostriches could be running through the streets for all they knew. But – _!_ – for him to go from “!” to “!!!!!!!!!!” That was not what she expected. At all.

“!!!!!!!!!!” consisted of him carefully arranging his mien into a calm, cool appearance before he held her gaze and spoke. It consisted of her narrowing at the bow of his lips and not resisting at the nefarious effect it had on her at all. It consisted of him slowly nearing her, but not enough and not what she desired so!

“You love not those who love in words alone,” unwavering in his stare, he reached for her hand and brushed her knuckles with a gentle kiss, “and if you allow, if you would have me—”

But she did not let him finish because “!!!!!!!!!!” needed action, and her reaction must meet it accordingly.

So she took his face, and in one breath, found his mouth soft and gentle and utterly desirable and “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Incomprehensible!” at last said them all.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it, however late it was! I had so much fun writing this at 3am when I was high on caffeine. Idk why hahaa XD Also this was a brief break from the other thing I was writing because god this was so hilarious and it was meant to be included in the Orator sequel, but it just made a life of its own!


End file.
